Honey's Farm (48 page)

‘I beg your pardon?' Arian's mind was racing. How should she deal with the situation? How could she get out of it with grace and dignity? Anger rose within her that this man, who had violated her once, was attempting now to humiliate her in front of the other workers. She forced herself to be calm, she must not lose her nerve now.

‘Well, we have been . . . close, haven't we?' Price was smiling and Arian held the door wide, facing him squarely, knowing that everyone was hanging on her words.

‘Close? Oh, I suppose you mean the night you tried to get me into your bed?' Arian was smiling, her eyes deliberately mocking. She looked past him at the ladies, who were agog with the excitement of it all.

‘Poor Price,' Arian continued. ‘I'm afraid I need a real man, not one who has to try to force a woman into submission instead of using a little natural charm.'

She turned to the cordwainers. ‘A woman needs gentleness, doesn't she, ladies?' Arian tossed her head. ‘I'm afraid, Price, your feeble attempt to make love to me resembled a clumsy bull trying to cover a reluctant cow!'

It was Sophie Pope who was the first to laugh. She tried to smother her giggles with her hand, but gave up when the rest of the workers joined in the laughter.

One of the men called jeeringly to Price Davies, ‘So you are not such a hot shot with the women then, Price – all lies was it, boy?'

Price Davies stared down at Arian in a moment of pure hatred. ‘You bitch!' he said hoarsely. ‘I should have finished you when I had the chance.'

‘You didn't even start with me, Price Davies,' Arian said emphatically. ‘As I said, I need a real man, not an apology for one.'

He raised his hand as if to strike her. Arian stood her ground, staring him out.

‘Don't be a fool, man,' one of the cobblers called out anxiously. ‘We don't want the constables down on us, do we?'

Arian smiled sweetly. ‘As you are clearly not happy working under the new management,' she said, ‘I'm afraid I've no alternative but to let you go. Your wages of course will be paid up to the end of the week.'

She closed the office door and sank down into a chair, aware that she was trembling. It had been an ordeal; but Arian felt she had come out of the confrontation with Price Davies with her dignity intact. No-one, now, would lend credence to his claims; only she and Price himself would ever know the truth of the night he had raped her.

After a moment, Arian opened the order book. The stocks of leather needed building up; she would, she realized, miss Price's expertise when it came to buying the finest skins, but she would simply have to find someone else to work with, someone she could rely on wholeheartedly.

At least she had learned one thing; it didn't do to try to mix business with pleasure. From now on, she would keep her love affairs right away from the workshops.

It was later, when Arian was walking home and darkness was beginning to close in, that she saw Price Davies again. He was just entering the doors of the Castle Hotel, his big frame washed with light from the doorway. Arian drew a sharp breath as she saw the man he was with; it was her uncle, Mike the Spud, and from the way the two men had their heads together, they were not planning anything good.

Arian shivered and crossed to the other side of the road. Uncle Mike on his own was bad news, but, together with Price Davies, he would be a force for evil. Arian felt, instinctively, that from now on she would have to be extra vigilant, or her safety would be in jeopardy.

‘Come here, my colleen.' There was a dreamy look in Jamie's eyes that Fon recognized. She smiled, eluding his searching hand, and slipped out of bed, her toes curling against the coldness of the floor.

‘Too much work to do,
boy bach
,' she said softly. ‘Anyway, Patrick's awake. I can hear him pottering about; we'd have no peace.'

Jamie sighed. ‘It's terrible to have a disobedient woman for a wife, a shrew who won't give her husband his dues.' He fell back against the pillows, his hands over his eyes. ‘I think I should take my belt to you, colleen.'

‘Huh!' Fon threw a pillow at him. ‘Just try it, my lad, and see where it gets you.'

He leapt out of bed so suddenly that Fon was taken by surprise. He was naked, and his desire was evident. ‘You witch!' he said, holding her close, his hands on her breasts. ‘I think I'll ravish you whether or not you want me to.'

His mouth on hers was sweet and hot with passion. Fon clung to him, suddenly wanting him with a fierce longing.

‘No need for any ravishing,' she whispered in his ear and, tugging his hands, she drew him down on to the bed, eager as always to have his love. She sighed softly as his sweet weight pressed against her; it was going to be another beautiful day.

It was later, when the men were out in the fields, that Fon looked up from her baking to see a large figure blocking out the light. She felt chilled as she recognized the rough hair and big shoulders of Mike the Spud.

‘What do you want?' she demanded, her eyes going to the rifle placed behind the door, too far away for her to reach it.

‘I mean no harm, missis.' The man's tone was whining; he was crushing his cap between his fingers. ‘I just wanted to know if there was work here for me.'

‘You can't mean it?' Fon's tone was incredulous. ‘I wouldn't give you work if there was no-one left to farm the land.'

‘Please, missis.' Mike smiled ingratiatingly. ‘I need money real bad, like, and I've changed, I'm not a villain any more. I'll prove it if you'll only give me the chance.'

He looked at the tray of cakes cooling on the table, and Fon could tell that the man was genuinely hungry.

‘I can't possibly take you on here,' she said. ‘My husband would never allow it.' Her voice softened. ‘But you can have something to eat before you go on your way.'

‘Thank you kindly, missis.' Mike sat eagerly at the table, and Fon poured him some tea and pushed a plate towards him.

‘Help yourself,' she said. ‘The tea is a bit stewed by now, but it's been on the hob, so it should be hot at least.'

She edged around the table, picked up the rifle and held it against her breast, glad of the reassuring feel of the metal beneath her hands.

‘No need of that, missis,' Mike said. ‘I'll eat up and go, if there's no chance of work. I won't pester you any more.'

Nevertheless, Fon kept the rifle close to her until Mike the Spud had eaten his fill and pushed away his chair.

‘Thank you, missis.' He suddenly swayed, and, putting his hand up to his eyes, moaned softly.

‘What is it?' Fon asked. ‘Are you sick?' She moved carefully towards him, the rifle still clasped firmly in her hands. ‘Do you need a doctor?' she persisted, as Mike couldn't or wouldn't answer. Fon bit her lip, not knowing what to do.

He moved so swiftly that she was unprepared. His big fist seemed to come from nowhere and exploded into her face; she thought she heard the rifle clatter to the floor, and then a total blackness blotted everything out.

Fon awoke slowly to a feeling of unreality. She was in an unfamiliar room, tied hand and foot to a chair in which she had been dumped unceremoniously, to judge by the dishevelled look of her apron and skirts.

One eye would not open, and Fon guessed that the pain on that side of her head was from the blow that Mike the Spud had dealt her. She sat up straighter and tried to look through the dusty curtains covering the window, but only a chink of light pierced through the folds.

A quick look round the room told her that she was in an unused farmhouse. Hooks jutted from thick beams, and it was clear they once held salted pork hung out to dry in the heat from the fire. And, as she breathed in, the scents of the land were all around her.

She struggled to free herself. Where was Mike the Spud, and what on earth did he think he was up to? Jamie would kill him when he found out what had happened.

A cold chill spread through her. How would Jamie know where to look for her? He had been out in the fields when Mike had come to the farmhouse, and the children had been with him. All he would see when he returned home was her unfinished baking on the table.

Mike would more than likely have left things tidy in the kitchen; he was cunning enough not to leave any evidence that he had been there.

A sense of despair swamped her. She would never be found; she would be at the mercy of a maniac like Mike the Spud for ever. Fon swallowed her fear, along with the tears that threatened to spill over. Panic would be of no use now; she must keep a cool head and think things out quietly.

It was dark by the time the door opened and two men entered the room. Fon looked up and tried to peer through the gloom. She recognized Mike's big rough build, but the man with him was a stranger to her.

‘Well, Price, how much should I ask for her, do you think?' Mike said, staring down at Fon with a blank expression on his coarse-featured face.

The man came up to Fon and tipped up her face, staring down at her in a way that made her flesh creep. ‘Not a bad looker, is she, except for the shiner you've given her?' The man's hand slid down her neck, caressing her skin with slow deliberation. She shrank back, but remorselessly his hand dipped into her bodice. With a sense of outrage, Fon lashed out with her foot. In retaliation, the man squeezed her breast until the pain made her gasp. Fon knew then he was merciless; she could never appeal to his better nature, for the man lacked any finer feelings.

‘Bitch!' he said softly. ‘I know just how to deal with you. A good man between your legs is what you need.'

Fear brought a sickness to the pit of Fon's stomach. The man's hand was on his belt; his look was speculative, as though he intended to put his words into action right away.

‘Come on, Price,' Mike the Spud broke in. ‘We've got to see to that other little matter, haven't we? I thought it was urgent, like.'

‘You're right.' Price's smile was suddenly charming. He leant forward, lifted Fon's chin and pressed his mouth to hers, forcing his tongue between her teeth. She tried to twist away, but it was impossible; he was holding her too cruelly.

When he released her, she stared up at him, frozen with horror. ‘Don't worry,' he said. ‘I'll be back to finish what I started.'

He moved to the door, speaking to Mike as though Fon was not within earshot. ‘We'll bleed the husband dry,' he laughed. ‘He's probably anxious to get his sweet bundle of charm back in one piece, and he'd pay whatever we asked.'

He clapped Mike on the shoulder. ‘He won't need to know that I've taken a drink of nectar from his own little flower cup, need he?'

Mike looked uneasily back towards Fon. ‘I'd be careful if I were you. Jamie O'Conner can act like a madman when he's roused.'

Price took a long knife from his boot and rubbed his finger along the sharp blade. ‘I can handle him.' He spoke scornfully, and Fon shuddered, closing her eyes against the sight of the shining blade.

When the men had gone, she tried again to free herself from the twisted rope that bound her, but the friction burnt her skin, and, after struggling for what seemed an eternity, she slumped back in the chair, defeated.

It was quite dark now, and the heavy blackness closed around her. All she could see were the shapes of the furniture in the small glimmer of light that pierced the slit of open curtain.

Suddenly Fon was angry, so angry that her vision blurred. She pushed her feet against the floor, and the chair moved a little. She looked up; if only she could get to the window, kick it open, perhaps she could call out and attract attention. With renewed energy she began to move.

Reaching the window was the easy part, although it took the best part of an hour, as far as Fon could judge. It was when she got as far as the deep sill that she realized the window was too far away, too high in the wall, for her to reach.

With her head she moved the curtain aside and looked out into the darkened landscape. It was then she realized where she was. Mike had taken her to the farmhouse once owned by his brother, Bob Smale; and there, just over the rise of the hill, was her own home, her home – and her husband Jamie.

The thought of Jamie's bewilderment and panic did to Fon what fear for her own safety had failed to do. Tears came to her eyes and, unchecked, ran down her cheeks and fell salt on to her lips.

‘Where can she be?' The little girl's voice broke into his thoughts, and Jamie did his best to speak kindly to her.

‘I don't know, April, but I intend to find out.' He was pulling on his coat as he spoke, ready to rejoin the search of the gulleys and rocks around the farmlands. All the men he could muster were out there with torches and dogs, combing every inch of ground in an effort to find Fon before the cold hours of dawn set in.

If she was lying somewhere injured, which seemed to be the most likely explanation for her disappearance, it was imperative to find her, and soon. But Jamie felt in his bones that Fon had not simply wandered outside, leaving her baking half-done; no, there was something more sinister at work here.

Jamie frowned. There was only one man who could answer for what had happened to Fon, and that was Mike the Spud. He was the one with the greatest grudge against Jamie. Mike probably blamed him, not only for taking his brother's land but for causing Bob Smale's death as well.

Jamie turned at the door to look at the woman who had volunteered to look after the children while he continued the search.

‘I'll try not to be long, Mrs Morris,' he said, ‘and thanks for your help. I'll always be grateful.'

‘Take as long as you like,' Mrs Morris replied. ‘Your wife must be found, whatever, and the little ones will be quite safe with me.'

Jamie stepped outdoors. The light had faded now to almost complete darkness; even the moon seemed to have deserted the land and was hidden behind a thick mass of clouds. Soon, it would rain; the earth would be soaked, and any trace of footsteps or signs of a struggle would have disappeared.